Winny
by turnedthepage
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock finally returns to John. But no one told him that in the time he was gone, John had had a son. Eventual johnlock. Parentlock. Not mpreg.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Oh god, this is my first Sherlock fic. Please don't hate me, I understand if you all think it's horrible.**

* * *

**Prologue.**

Sherlock had been gone for a little over three years now. All his dirty business was taken care of, every ounce of danger, every molecule of threat, destroyed. And he was finally able to return home.

He'd been back for almost a week now, sorting things out with his brother and the police. He had yet to contact John.

Every possible scenario ran through his head as he tried to gauge the most likely reaction he would receive from his former flatmate. John would punch him, he would break down and sob, he would rationalize it as a hallucination, he would reject him, et cetera, et cetera.

But the one thing he hadn't considered before knocking on the door to 221 B, was that he would be immediately enveloped by a pair of nervous but strong arms, and that he would return the gesture without a thought.


	2. You Left Me All Alone

**Chapter One. You Left Me All Alone.**

Sherlock stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of his friend against him. He wasn't much for this type of closeness, but for once he didn't feel the need to fight it. Then again, he really shouldn't be surprised, as John had been an exception to many of his rules.

"Welcome back, Sherlock." John's voice was hardly more than a whisper, and was further muffled by the fabric of Sherlock's coat. He lifted his head to finally, _finally_, get a look at his friend. If it was possible, he looked a little harder. More composed than he had been before. But before he had a chance to frown at that, he saw the familiar flitting of Sherlock's eyes as he tried to deduce something about him.

When the movement finally slowed, Sherlock's eyes slid to John's, staring into him before his lips parted just enough for his deductions to come tumbling out from between them. "Calm, relatively confident, slightly relieved, as if you've been waiting for me. When did Mycroft tell you I'd returned?"

John couldn't help but allow a small, yet somewhat sad chuckle to escape his lips. The older Holmes brother had approached him, much against the younger's wishes. "The day after you got here. Look, I know you're probably mad at him, but I'm glad they told me. It... worked out a lot better."

"They? So Lestrade couldn't keep the secret either," Sherlock sighed, but sounded more amused than angered.

"Don't be too angry with them. Did you really think they could leave me in the dark about this? I'm glad I had time to prepare."

"I had a plan."

"It wouldn't have worked. Don't give me that look," he said, but he secretly didn't want Sherlock to wipe the pouting look off his face. He'd missed that look so much, no matter how much he said he didn't pout. "Do you have any idea how angry I was when the first told me? I can't describe... I couldn't even see straight. I only calmed down after I'd exhausted myself wrecking the apartment."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but stayed quiet, allowing the doctor to get this out of his system.

"You know... you should come inside. It's a bit awkward to talk about this in the doorway."

After giving a tiny nod he followed John up to the apartment, where he was surprised to see a collection of small children's toys scattered about the floor. He glanced up and examined John more closely, noting his tired posture and bags under his eyes. "Congratulations," he said in a low voice.

John gave a sheepish, nervous smile. He knew it wouldn't take Sherlock long to notice. "For?" Of course he knew what for, but he wanted to hear him say it. Wanted to see that glorious mind in action again.

"Becoming a father. My brother neglected to tell me you'd adopted a child."

"Right." John said. "How d'you know he's adopted?"

"Photograph on the side table there." Sherlock pointed to the table aside John's regular chair, still in the same place it'd always been in. "He clearly looks nothing like you."

"Yes, well... Sherlock..."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

John blinked, surprised by the question. He wondered for a fleeting second why he would ask to sit down in his own home, before he remembered that this hadn't been his home for three years. "Please."

The curly-haired detective nodded his thanks before taking a seat on the sofa. He didn't flinch when John sat next to him. "What's his name?"

A smile spread across John's face at Sherlock's interest. "Darwin. I call him Winny."

The corners of Sherlock's lips flicked up a bit. "That's nice."

"You think so?"

"I do," he assured him.

"Sherlock..." John started, angling himself toward him. He willed himself not to feel intimidated my the other man's intense stare. "I need you to know that I'm very upset right now."

"Of course you are."

"I mean it," he sent him a serious look, his eyes full of pain, effectively making Sherlock's shadow of a smile disappear altogether. "After the anger passed... all I could feel was sadness. I'd spent three years thinking you were _dead_. That my best friend, the one person who gave some meaning to my life, was gone. I can't even begin to describe how much you hurt me, Sherlock. How it felt to see you fall... to see the sidewalk covered in your-" He had to stop, the trembling in his voice becoming too much for him to continue through. He looked down, trying to regain his composure.

He only looked up when he felt a set of cool fingers brush against his cheek, sweeping away the tears he hadn't even felt drip down his skin. As soon as his eyes met Sherlock's, the fingers were gone. He immediately missed the sensation, but said nothing so as not to scare him away. "I had to."

John shook his head, taking a deep breath. "That's it? That's the only explanation you're going to offer? 'I had to'?"

"Surely my brother and Lestrade informed you of the situation."

"I want to hear it from you," the doctor's voice was stronger now, his military history evident in the commanding tone. "I want you to tell me why you did it. I want to know what was going on inside your head."

"John..."

"Tell me."

At first, Sherlock looked like he wasn't going to comply. His eyes took on a glassy, dead state of colourlessness, sending a chill down John's spine. "They were going to kill you. And Mrs. Hudson, _and_ Lestrade. The only way to call them off was to jump."

"And you couldn't have told me about this plan ahead of time?" John knew the story. He just wanted to hear it from the man himself.

"They would have known," Sherlock told him. "You had to mourn me, you all did, or they would have known I was alive. No one could know."

"Molly knew."

"I needed her help. She wasn't someone they had any interest in and she's a naturally nervous and distraught person, she could fake mourning easily. I knew she wouldn't give me away. I did this to protect you. If there had been another option, I would have taken it, but there wasn't and I was not going to risk the lives of three people."

"You know," John began, "you told me that you didn't have friends, that you only had one. Do you know what? I only had one too. You were all I had, Sherlock. The others, the other people in out lives, they're great and all, but you... you were the only friend I had and you left me all alone."

Sherlock closed his eyes for an excruciatingly long minute before saying, "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," John said easily. "And I will always forgive you, but please don't do anything like this again."

"I'll do my best." Another smile graced Sherlock's thin lips. John wondered how many times he'd smiled while he'd been away.

"Right. Well, I'm glad that's done." He sighed with relief.

"Yes." Sherlock stood, straightening his coat before taking another look around.

"Where are you going?"

"My brother set me up in a small apartment while I was waiting to come back here."

"Why did you wait so long before coming to see me?" John interrupted.

Sherlock avoided looking at him. "I was unsure if I was even going to return at all. I was still on the fence about you when I arrived. I wasn't sure how to... I wasn't sure how you would react, if you would even want to see me. But, I suppose I knew all along that I would come back eventually."

"Are you saying you missed me?"

"I faked my own suicide to save your life, and spent three years eradicating any and all threats to you. Infer what you will." He turned toward the door, stopping only when John jumped up and caught him by the wrist.

"Are you... leaving?"

"I can't really stay here, can I? You've got a child to tend to. I have some business to take care of, anyway."

"Damn your business, Sherlock, you're not leaving. You only just got back into my life, I'm not letting you leave after only a few minutes." He surprised himself with how forceful he could sound. Then he had a brilliant idea. "Would you like to meet Winny?"

Sherlock's brow dipped. "You want me to meet your son?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure that's a wise decision?"

John seemed to consider it. "Um, I think you should meet him, yes."

"Alright, then." Sherlock did his best to sound bored, but John could tell he was curious.

He was glad for that. "Come on, this way." He led them back to the room that had been Sherlock's. "I moved into this room after I decided to adopt. It's easier to be on the main floor of the rest of the flat, you know?"

"Sure. Although you could have just moved."

"No. I really couldn't have." John opened the door with a sweaty hand. "Oh look, he is awake. He's so quiet, I can never tell."

Sherlock peered over the small wooden crib, down at the tiny figure wriggling inside. His eyes locked with the tiny orbs that seemed to shift between a spectrum of undefinable colours, becoming almost hypnotized as neither of them blinked. "He's... lovely."

John couldn't help but laugh a little. "You would think so."

Again, the detective's brow turned down as he examined the child and the doctor. "What?"

"You really can't tell?"

"Tell _what_?"

"Wow, I've actually managed to stump you. You really can't see? You can't see anything familiar about him to tell you who he is?"

Sherlock looked back down at the child, noticing the locks of curly black hair he'd ignored before. He looked again to the sparkling eyes and then closed his own. "John."

"He's yours, Sherlock."


	3. In The Park

**Chapter Two. In The Park.**

Sherlock blinked, looking between Winny and John. "I don't have a son."

"Well," John said, looking thoughtful, "legally, no, since I adopted him. But biologically, he's yours."

"There is no way I can have a child, John. My brother wasn't joking when he called me a virgin." He didn't blush or stammer at this confession. "Not to mention his age, he can't be more than a year old, so I can't be his father if I was _dead_ when he was conceived."

"A year and two months." John corrected.

"What?"

"He's a year and two months." A shrug. "He's small for his age. But he'll grow. You did."

"Just because I was small... I never told you I was small as an infant."

John huffed a little laugh. "Your brother did, when I'd commented on Winny's weight. He assured me that you caught up eventually, so Darwin would as well. He also told me you didn't learn to speak until you were four."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I had better things to do than speak."

This, unsurprisingly, amused John. "Right." He bent down over the crib, scooping up the quietly observing baby. He smiled as the boy giggled softly at him. "See that? He's just like you, watching everything going on around him. I just wonder what he's thinking all the time. If he's trying to deduce me like you used to." He didn't miss the flicker of a smile that graced Sherlock's lips.

He patted Winny's back a few times before stepping closer to Sherlock, holding the child out to him gently, causing the other man to take a quick step backwards. "What are you doing?"

John wore an innocent face as he told him, "I thought maybe you'd like to hold him."

"You don't want to put your son in my arms."

"Our son." John scowled a bit at that. "No, I didn't mean, 'hey look we made a baby together,' I just meant... well he's yours and I adopted him, so he _is_ ours. You should hold him."

Sherlock shook his head stiffly and held his hands up. "These cold fingers aren't meant to handle children, John."

John tilted his head to the side, giving up and holding Winny closer to himself. "Do you have something against children?" he asked, something close to hurt evident on his face.

"No," he assured him, "I just don't have any business being responsible for them in any way. Even cases involving children... It's careless, really, to put me in charge."

"You're afraid you'll hurt them." He'd meant it to sound like a question, but he already knew the answer.

"It is unavoidable."

"I don't think you'd hurt him." John bounced the boy a bit in his arms. "I trust you."

"Even after I left you."

John shrugged. "I never stopped believing in you," he said, biting his lip. "So if you don't dislike children, why are you afraid of being around them?"

"I... envy them."

"Envy them?"

"Children have the most wonderful imaginations. They see things in ways many adults are unable to fathom. They think multiple thoughts at once, and in many different ways, at speeds three or four times those of their parents. They get bored extremely easily because their spongy little minds need extreme amounts of stimulation. They're far more intelligent than we give them credit for, mostly because they're bloody idiots."

Another chuckle bubbled up John's throat. "Sounds like you."

"Exactly." Sherlock said, sounding almost impressed. "But what's the difference between me and a child?"

"Um..." John looked around, thinking. "You're in your thirties?"

"Children outgrow it."

"What?"

Sherlock's voice raised a little, but not so much as to upset Winny. "They grow up. Their brains slow down and they develop consciences and make friends and fit in with the rest of the world."

"Are you saying you'd rather just be like everyone else?"

"Of course not, that would be completely dull," the dark-haired man said as if it were completely obvious. "But I can't turn it off, John. I may be an unfeeling, selfish, careless-"

"Sherlock," John scolded.

"Well. There have been points where I wished I could switch it off."

"To relax."

"To _want_ to relax. I don't even have the luxury of wanting it, don't you see?"

"Is that why you did the..." John coughed. "The uh, drugs, then?"

Sherlock's only answer was a nod.

John let out a short sigh. "Look, um... I was getting ready to wake Winny from his nap and go for a walk in the park when you got here."

"Oh..." Sherlock took another step back.

"No, I didn't mean... I didn't mean leave. I'll never tell you to leave. I was just going to ask if you'd like to come with me. So we can talk about this." He waited for a reply, but Sherlock just stood there, staring at him, trying to decide what would be the best choice. "Please? I'll answer all your questions."

"I can't say 'no' to answers, can I?"

A true smile broke out across John's face. "Wonderful."

X

They walked to the park in silence. John didn't even blink at the people who stared at the two men walking with a baby. He seemed perfectly content.

This put Sherlock somewhat at ease.

They found a bench in the shade, sitting together and watching the bigger children play on the equipment. "This is kind of backwards, isn't it?" John asked once they were situated.

"What is?"

"Us. Our reunion. You said you had a plan. You were prepared to give me the shock of a lifetime. Then I turn it around and tell you you have a son."

Sherlocl rolled his eyes. "I'm not convinced he is my son."

John bounced Winny on his lap, taking his time coming up with an explanation for Sherlock. "After you'd... disappeared, everyone felt it necessary to check in on me. Molly. Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson, well, that's a given, really. But even your brother came to see me. He missed you too, you know. I know you two don't always get on, but, it's obvious he cares about you."

"And you by extension."

John nodded. "You and I were a team. He told me I was the only person you let into your life. He said you'd had other flatmates, even took some of them on cases with you. But you never let them in like you did me. But that wasn't what got me."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, interest piqued.

"Yeah. He said I was the only one to really care. The only one who cared about you enough to just blindly trust you no matter what. The only one to mourn your death because I _missed you_ rather than just because I owed you."

"I did it because I wanted you safe, not because I expected anything in return."

This almost stunned John into complete silence. He knew Sherlock cared about him. He just never expected him to admit it. "See, it's things like that that make me wonder how anyone could ever call you selfish."

"Oh, but it was selfish," Sherlock argued with a cock of his head. "I couldn't bear to watch you be killed, so instead I forced you to watch me kill myself."

John pressed his lips together and lightly ran his fingers through his son's hair. "I was a wreck at first. I visited your grave every day. I went back to seeing my therapist. I expected the limp to come back, but it didn't. Probably because deep down, I knew you couldn't be dead. After a few months, I started to feel better. I started to come to terms with the fact that you were gone, dead or not, and that you might not ever come back. But that doesn't mean I stopped missing you."

"Where does me having a son fit into all of this?"

A deep breath allowed John the few seconds he needed to get his thoughts straight. "I gradually started feeling like a slightly normal person again, you know, leaving the flat, doing the shopping, talking to people other than those who checked in on me, but I knew I was still missing something. You, obviously, but I knew I couldn't have you back. So that's when I figured it out."

"What did you figure out?"

He looked his friend in the eyes and told him, "I missed having someone to look after." He looked away, though, before he could see Sherlock's reaction. "I know I used to get frustrated with you, but, well, I didn't realize until after you were gone how much I actually liked picking up after you. How good it felt to be by your side, watching out for you. Being someone you could always count on."

Sherlock nodded, understanding. "So you decided you wanted a child."

"That's right. I'm sure you've already figured out why I wanted to adopt."

"Of course. An ex-military man with trust issues? You didn't want to have to share your child with someone who might betray you."

John nodded, not denying any of it. "I talked about it to Molly first. She thought it was a brilliant idea. And when I said something to Mycroft..."

An audible _click_ sounded in Sherlock's head. "He told you about the DNA samples."

John laughed, causing Winny to giggle, his cheeks pinching up so his gums were visible through his smile. "You Holmes boys and your experiments. I was surprised, honestly, when he suggested it. At first I didn't think it was a good idea. Having something that would constantly remind me of you, and I didn't want him growing up thinking I'd only wanted him because he had your DNA. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I guess I was just destined to have a Holmes in my life."

"Who's the mother?"

"A surrogate. She was very nice about the whole thing, didn't want anything from me other than a picture of him. Which, you know, I preferred not having to share him, so that was good. She signed all the papers and as soon as he was born he was placed into my arms and... that was it. I had a son. Your brother is quite the affectionate uncle, too, I'll have you know. Didn't think he'd have it in him."

"You say you didn't want to share him," Sherlock started.

"Yes."

"Yet you chose to use my DNA to create him, knowing you had a feeling I was still alive."

"Well," John began explaining with relative ease, "I trust you, remember?"

"How could I forget."

"I knew if you ever did come back, I wouldn't have to worry about you trying to take him from me. Never even crossed my mind. Any time I thought about you returning, it just gave me a sense of happiness at him having a chance to know you."

"Are you sure it's the best choice? For him to know me?"

"Of course," John said without a single thought. "He's just like you, you know. He gets so fussy sometimes. Always quiet, but always fighting me. But even though he can't say it right now, I know he appreciates everything I do for him. I can see it in his eyes."

"Looks like you've got me all figured out."

"I love him so much, Sherlock." John said, hugging the baby closer. "I think you would too. If you stayed."

"I can't."

John frowned. "It's okay to be scared, you know. That you won't be a good parent. I was afraid of that. That I wouldn't be good enough. But every parent has that fear. I don't think it'll ever go away, no matter how spectacular you are at it." He hesitated for a moment, then faced Sherlock. "Do you want to hold him now?"

"I shouldn't."

"Come on, he doesn't bite. Actually, no, he might, just keep your fingers away from his mouth and it'll be fine, even though he can't really hurt you. Here," he grabbed Sherlock's arms and pulled them into baby-holding position, gently sliding Winny into his grasp, "see? It's easy."

Sherlock didn't move a muscle. He stayed perfectly still, not daring to move lest he somehow hurt the creature laying on his lap. Winny stared up at him, confused for a second. Then he started laughing, like a high-pitched song in a glorious foreign language. "He's..."

"Absolutely adorable, right? Looks like he likes you."

"Maybe you should take him back now."

"Alright, if you're really that worried." John reached over and retrieved his son in one fluid movement, freeing Sherlock from his self-induced paralysis. "Sherlock... I know this is a big decision. But I'd really like for you to stay and be a part of his life. I can't make you, but... you know I'd be there with you, helping you. I wouldn't just expect you to know everything right away. We'd be doing it together. Will you think about it, at least?"

Sherlock nodded. He looked back to Winny, his son, and cautiously raised a hand, looking to John for permission. After an encouraging nod, he moved his hand closer to the boy. When he heard a satisfied gurgle and felt a tiny hand curl around his pinkie finger, he nodded again. "Yes, I'll think about it."


	4. Sixteen Percent

**A/N: So I realized I had the wrong chapter title for the previous chapter, but it's fixed now lol. Also, I'm so surprised to see anyone is actually enjoying this, but I'm glad! Hopefully it continues to be something you like :) This chapter might be a little shitty, but I've got some angst coming next time so I hope you don't hate it too much...  
**

**Chapter Three. Sixteen Percent.**

The next week was almost like a dream for John. Every day Sherlock came to visit, keeping the promise he'd made before he and John parted ways at the park.

_"Will you come back tomorrow?" John asked, not quite sure what to expect for an answer._

_"Do you want me to?"  
_

_"Are you an idiot? Of course I want you to."  
_

_Sherlock's face softened slightly, a movement that would have gone unnoticed by practically any other human being. "I'll stop by sometime in the afternoon."  
_

The first day John was almost surprised to see Sherlock back. Not that he expected him to go back on his word, but he didn't really know what to expect right now. He was just grateful the man seemed more willing to interact with Winny.

"I researched everything I could about child development last night," Sherlock commented as he inspected Winny's hair.

"Oh?" John asked. "Thought you would have already known everything."

"Being a genius doesn't mean I automatically know everything."

John just happily stayed silent, watching Sherlock fuss with the baby. He was glad the man had made the effort to learn more about raising children. It meant he was doing his best to make the right decision. He had faith that he would, too, but he had to be patient with him. As he looked on at them, he noticed Sherlock was taking inventory. Checking his nose and fingers and toes, like any parent does when their child is born. He didn't know if he was doing it because of his research or because he was genuinely interested, but either way, he felt a little more hopeful.

They spent most of this day talking about the circumstances of Darwin's birth. Labour lasted six hours. He was a small. He started breathing without being slapped. Cried a lot the first few days, then became quieter.

That sort of thing.

The second day brought a different kind of conversation. John showed Sherlock how to change the boy's diaper without getting messed on while they talked about what had been going on while Sherlock had been gone. He was sure the consulting detective had been informed of the most important developments, and had most likely found out a number of other things, but that didn't stop them discussing the goings on in London.

Sherlock held Winny with more confidence by the third day. He began staying later, too, even after the boy had been put in bed for the night. Soon it would become dark, and by the end of the week he was staying to the point where it was almost the next day, so engrossed in talking and catching up with John that neither of them really felt the time passing.

It'd been over a week now, and they were seated on the sofa. Sherlock hadn't sat in in his usual chair once in all the time he'd been back.

"What are you thinking about?" John asked, breaking the moment of silence.

"Hm?"

John smiled. "You've got your thinking face on."

"You mean my normal face? I'm always thinking."

"Yeah, well you're thinking extra hard, then."

Sherlock let a long breath escape his lips. "I'm sure you can figure out what I'm thinking about."

John nodded. "Still haven't decided, then?"

"No."

"I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you. You don't have to stay."

"I know I don't." Sherlock said a bit louder than he'd intended.

John sighed. "What I mean is, this... what we're doing right now? With you coming round every day to spend some time with him, it's working. It works. This isn't an all-or-nothing thing, Sherlock. If you don't want to come back here and live with us, that doesn't mean you can't still be his dad. Or... whatever you want to be to him. We could tell him you're just a friend of mine, if that's what you want."

"That's not what I want."

"Then what do you want?"

Sherlock peered into his eyes. "I want to ask you a question."

John took a deep breath in and swallowed. "Okay."

"If he wasn't mine, if you'd had used a surrogate to father your own child, or if you'd adopted a child from an agency or something, would you still want me here?"

"Yes." John barely let him finish before answering, nodding before repeating, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend. And I'd still be a single parent, I still would have chosen to do it that way."

Sherlock's brow tightened. "You'd still trust me to be a key influence in your child's life."

"Why wouldn't I?"

A look of are-you-an-idiot appeared on Sherlock's face. "I'm careless, for one. Also, I keep gory experiments in the refrigerator, and sometimes leave them lying about on tables and under beds. I have no regard for the emotions of others. And I'm a recovering drug addict who frequently relapses."

John hung his head a bit, resting his forehead in his hands. "When's the last time you used anything?"

"Few days before I returned to London."

"Sherlock," John scolded. "While you were gone-"

"You don't want to ask me that." Sherlock's eyes were intense, much like the time John had first found out about his habits.

"We will talk about this later." John warned. "But that's precisely why you need to stay. You're better when you're with me and you know it."

Sherlock didn't deny it. "And what if I don't get better this time? Do you really want someone like me to be your son's role model."

John shook his head. "Do you think those things are the only things I'm considering? How about the fact that you could be using that brilliant mind to do positively horrible things, and yet you choose to help people? Or that you were ready to kill yourself just to save the people you cared most about."

"I didn't die, John."

"But you could have." john argued. "I know you only had a sixteen percent chance of surviving that fall. I know you took the risk anyway, and I know you did it for me. Deny your sentiment all you want, but I can see it. You couldn't convince me you were a fake, and you can't convince me that you don't care about me."

Sherlock looked away. "Sentiment is dangerous."

"I don't see how caring about someone can hurt you."

"Not me," Sherlock replied. "Although, maybe indirectly. But the moment something becomes important to me, the very second I begin to care, it becomes a target. A walking bullseye for all of my enemies to aim for. The closer something is to me, the more danger it's in."

"Sherlock..."

"Don't you see my predicament? Do I stay with you and help raise our son, all the while putting the two of you in harm's way? Or do I keep you safe by leaving, effectively abandoning my child and my friend."

"Are you saying... you want to stay?"

"What I want and what I think may be the right choice aren't always the same thing."

"Leaving us isn't the right choice." John offered. "If you leave... God, I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

"But is it worth the risk?"

"Of course it is. I've always trusted you. And I have faith that you'll protect us."

Sherlock looked back at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt in himself. He found none. "What if I need to disappear again."

"Then we'll come with you."

A small smile played at the corner of Sherlock's lips. "You're not going to decide later that I really shouldn't have stayed?"

"Not a chance."

"What will he call me?"

John couldn't keep his face from lighting up. "Well, I've been trying to get him to call me Daddy, so... Papa? Or, Father, if you'd prefer something more formal..."

One eyebrow lifted in thought. "Papa would be... fine. Although, you do realize people will talk, don't you?"

"Since when do you care about what people say?"

"Not me, you."

"Oh." John realized. "Right. Well, you can imagine all the rumours I heard when people found out I was raising your son in the first place, so, I doubt it could really get much worse."


	5. I See You in Him

**A/N: Thanks for the follows and faves guys. But don't be shy, I'd love some more reviews. Also sorry for the long wait. I was away for a bit. And just so you know, this story isn't really turning out how I planned, and it's probably not going to be very good, so don't get your hopes up.  
**

**Chapter Four. I See You in Him.**

The first few days of Sherlock's return to 221 B were somewhat awkward.

Of course Sherlock acted the same as usual, leaving his things about, experimenting in the kitchen, playing the violin at all hours of the night.

But John, hard as he tried, just couldn't get over the strange feeling he had. He could tell something wasn't right with Sherlock. Sherlock avoided him a lot, often leaving the apartment without explanation, and returning the same way.

It saddened him, but what was did he expect? Did he really think things would just go straight back to how they used to be? That as soon as Sherlock moved in, they would be chasing criminals through the streets and arguing over the skull?

He knew that wasn't going to happen. Especially since there was a child to consider now.

John wondered if that was why Sherlock seemed more distant than he'd ever been before. Because he'd had a plan, he'd wanted to come back, but he'd never factored a child into that plan.

X

After a slightly exhausting day at work, John just wanted to go home and rest. He thought about putting the baby to bed a little early tonight, so they could have some quiet time.

He had to pause, though, when he opened the door to the flat. He stood half in and half out, unable to blink as he took in the sight in front of him.

Sherlock sat in his chair, holding Winny tightly to his chest, rubbing his back as he slept. He looked up when he realized John was there, their eyes locking as they were temporarily paralyzed. Sherlock looked almost like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, like he wasn't sure how John would react.

John's first response was to smile, his lower lip dropping so his teeth showed. Then he blinked, because he realized he hadn't since he walked in. "Is he asleep?" he asked softly.

Not taking his eyes off John, Sherlock nodded.

So John closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and walked over to them, standing just off to the side so he could see Winny's sleeping face resting against Sherlock's shoulder. By this time Sherlock had resumed comforting the child, using his peripherals to keep an eye on John and gauge how he was feeling. "I should take a picture."

"No." Sherlock said lowly.

"Oh, come on. Just one, I swear."

"No, John."

"I won't show it to anyone."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you want it?"

John shrugged. "To look at it later. To look back when he's all grown up."

"One picture."

A wider smile appeared as John pulled out his phone. He brushed his hand over Sherlock's shoulder as he said, "Thank you," and quickly took the picture before Sherlock could change his mind.

John sat in his own chair as he studied the photo.

Sherlock carefully pulled Winny down so he was lying on his back in Sherlock's arms, but still cuddled against him. "I'm not sure I want him to grow up."

This made John look up at him. "There really isn't a choice, you know."

"Of course I know. But what happens when he grows up, John?"

"I don't think I know what you're asking."

Sherlock moved a finger over one of his son's tiny hands, letting a smirk pull faintly at his lips when the tiny fingers instinctively wrapped around it. "He won't just grow larger. He'll grow smarter. What will he think of me?"

"What?"

"What if he doesn't like me?"

John frowned. It still baffled him when he heard Sherlock talk like this. Honest. And open. Because he was more reserved than ever since he'd returned from the dead. "You don't care if people like you."

"All but one." He peered into John's eyes, trying to make him see what he meant. When he thought John got the message, he looked back to the sleeping bundle in his arms. "Two, now, I suppose."

John sighed. "You're saying you worry about what I think of you?"

"I don't worry."

"But you think about it."

"I think about everything."

"Sherlock," John scolded, not in the mood for these games tonight.

"You are my friend," Sherlock finally said. "Of course what you think matters. _You _matter."

John was stunned. Of course he knew that he mattered to Sherlock. That Sherlock cared about him, in his own way, and that John was important. But hearing it was still surprising. "Look, I don't want to sound like one of those characters in a teen drama but our friendship... it means the world to me. Everyone seems to think I just put up with your mess and your rudeness and everything but I don't think they understand that I don't like you despite those things, I like you for them. Why else would I have stood by you like I did? Why else would I jump at the chance to raise a child with half of you in him?"

Sherlock leaned his head to one side, studying the doctor and the child. "He has you in him too, you know. Maybe not genetically, but it's still there."

"Yeah?" John frowned in confusion. Yes, he'd been raising Winny, but he hadn't seen much of himself in him.

"Of course." Sherlock smiled, small but genuine happiness shining on his lips. "He smiles all the time. Really, have you seen the way he smiles? It's like he's speaking to us in his own language, especially when he's laughing. It's beautiful."

"What?"

Sherlock looked up at him. "What?"

"You see all of that... in me?"

"Shouldn't I?"

"I... I don't know. I just never thought..."

"Never thought what?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"That I'm... that you would ever think that, let alone say it out loud."

"Should I not say it anymore?"

"You can say it all you like," John insisted, "it's just... ever since you got back... you're so different."

Sherlock tightened his lips as he thought about that. "Bad different?"

"No, of course not. You just... you seem more open. I mean I know you talk to me more than you do to anyone else, but it's like..."

"I don't want to hide anything from you," Sherlock answered simply. "I want to tell you everything you're curious about because every day I had to hide myself from you hurt. It _hurt_, John. Nothing's ever hurt before."

John bit his lip. "Maybe we should put Winny down for a nap."

"He's already sleeping."

"I mean in his crib."

After a few seconds of consideration, Sherlock nodded and stood. They walked to John bedroom and Sherlock carefully placed the sleeping baby down in the crib, taking a moment to look at him. "Do you know how else he's like you?"

"How?"

"He isn't at all uncomfortable in my presence."

"Of course he's not. He loves you."

Sherlock nodded absently. "Is it alright for me to love him back?"

"You don't need permission to love your own child," John answered quietly. "Do you, though?"

"I believe I do."

"That's wonderful. That's really..."

Sherlock saw John's eyes start to water and felt his own eyes grow wide. "That's the second time I've made you cry since I've been back."

"I'm not crying, I just... it's nice, and I'm happy."

"John," Sherlock hesitated, though not for long, "did you cry a lot while I was gone?"

John sighed. "Let's go to the kitchen. I'm going to need tea if we're going to talk about this."


	6. Boa

**Chapter Five. Boa.**

"I didn't know what to think, when you died," John said. "Everyone kept telling me that it would get better. That they understood how I felt. But _I_ didn't even know how I felt." He stopped to take a sip of his tea, noting that Sherlock hadn't touched his yet. "The first few days were the worst, or so I'm told. I don't remember much about what happened between watching you fall and going to your funeral."

"I was there."

"What?"

"My funeral. I was there, watching."

The flash of anger John felt was drowned out by the amusement. "Of course you'd want to see your own funeral."

"I was there for a very specific reason," Sherlock assured him.

"Wanted to see how many people actually showed up?" John guessed.

He locked his eyes on John's, making sure he had his attention. "I was only interested in one person attending."

"Oh," John set his cup down.

"It was..." Sherlock looked down and to the side while he came up with what he wanted to say. "It was the last chance I had, before I left. My last chance to see you. Possibly ever, depending on how careful I was while I was away."

"You went to an event where everyone is emotional, an event that you see as completely pointless and tedious, to see me."

"Yes."

"You were there the whole time and..."

"I couldn't risk talking to you," Sherlock said softly, guessing John's thoughts. "The whole point to this thing was that you thought I was dead... I'd say you don't know how hard it was to not speak to you but I don't think that would be fair."

"Fair? Sherlock, what part of this was fair to me?"

"You're still alive."

"It doesn't matter. It didn't matter. I was alive but it felt like I wasn't, Sherlock. I felt like I'd died right there with you, Like I was a ghost standing over your grave."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you, though? I mean, I already forgave you, because you came back and you're here now and that's all I've been wanting since the beginning, but..."

"I didn't know, John," Sherlock confessed. "I didn't know what it would do to you. What it would do to either of us. I had no way of knowing... This thing, caring about someone, it was completely new to me. Caring because I wanted it rather than I owed it."

John sighed, remembering he wasn't angry at him anymore. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me."

"Sherlock, I've already forgiven you, I just... it's hard. Looking back on all the time I spent thinking you were dead, and you were out there all along. All the sadness I felt. All the guilt."

"Guilt?"

John looked puzzled. "Did you really not consider that I might feel responsible? You died to save me. You'd given up your _life_ to save mine, and you'd been planning it all along, and that last conversation we had before it was a fight. You thought I'd be alright with that?"

"I couldn't have guessed that that would have an impact," Sherlock said, backing away from the table. "I just assumed I'd be gone and that was it. What more could there possibly be?"

"Are you admitting you were wrong about something?"

"No, aren't you listening to me? It wasn't a miscalculation, I didn't even think to consider how you might feel. I knew you'd mourn me, yes, and I know what behavior that entails but I didn't know what it _meant_." He took a breath, letting it sink in. "I didn't know what mourning was."

"Didn't?" John asked, noting the strange inflection in Sherlock's voice.

"Yes. But I discovered it when I left. I was _dead_, John. Gone from the world. Just a name, a memory. And there was nothing I could do about it. If I came out of hiding before it was safe, everyone would have been in danger and it would have been a waste."

John walked over to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder, thankful when he didn't pull away. "Sherlock..."

"John, I _am_ sorry but I don't know how I'm supposed to apologize but you must know that-"

"Sherlock," John said again, "just stop, I don't want you to be like this. I do forgive you. I can't even begin to think about how much you must be hurting, to admit it at all... just... can I..." He tried to figure out how to wrap his arms around Sherlock. Once he did, the man was mostly unresponsive, his arms hanging limply by his sides. "Sherlock, we are having an emotional moment and I want to hug you so you will lift your arms and hug me back or I will invite Anderson to have tea with us tomorrow."

He sighed and held his arms around John, tightening his hold when John leaned into him. He allowed his eyes to close, everything around him and inside his head seeming to pause, the only thing he cared to concentrate on being the warmth he felt. Everything about John was warm; his touch, his words, his smile. He could come off as cold if he needed to, but he screamed warmth.

But the thoughts of coldness brought with them a sense of discomfort. He shouldn't have been this close to something so warm. Something so good. Sherlock dropped his arms, pushing John away so gently he would barely realize it. He turned his back to him. "You shouldn't do that," he warned in as calm a voice as he could produce.

"Right, you don't really like that kind of thing," John said, understanding. "Sorry. Thanks, though."

Sherlock turned around again, his demeanor back to normal. He flashed a quick smile and said, "you're welcome." He watched John leave the kitchen, then finished his tea in solitude, trying not to think about hugging John, didn't want to remember how it felt to slide his arms around him. He couldn't help recalling images of boa constrictors.


	7. Someone New

**A/N: Sorry this is so late. It's been sitting here, finished, but I got caught up in school and never posted it.  
**

**Chapter Six. Someone New.**

"John, get the door," Sherlock called out after hearing a knock.

"Your doctor is at work," the annoyed voice answered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Mycroft?" He didn't look when the door opened and his brother stepped through, his attention was focused on feeding the baby sat in the highchair in front of him.

Much the opposite of his father, Winny screamed with delight when he noticed his uncle.

"Trust me," Sherlock said to the little one, "you'll grow out of it." Sherlock stood straight, lifting Winny into his arms.

Mycroft stepped forward and put a hand on his nephew's head. "How long are you going to do this, Sherlock?"

"What?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. How long do you plan on sticking around for him? We all know how you get bored."

Sherlock shrugged. "As long as John lets me, I suppose. He'll soon realize how terrible I am at this whole thing and tell me to get out before I break his son."

"But you're _not_ terrible at it. That's why I'm worried. You've been back for two months now, and you've been quite a reasonable father to this child."

"It can't continue though, can it?" Sherlock pointed out. He and Mycroft still didn't really get along, but after what he'd gone through to help Sherlock on his extended vacation, Sherlock had lost some of the bitterness he'd felt toward his brother. "Something will happen, sooner or later. I find myself unable to determine which."

"Why did you decide to come back?" Mycroft asked. In all the time that Sherlock had been back, he'd never asked. He had a guess, but of course guesses are not facts. "You were never meant to."

"Yet you left me options in case I changed my mind."

"You assured me you wouldn't."

"Why did you suggest John have my son?" Sherlock asked. If they were asking questions now, this was the one he needed an answer to.

"I needed an excuse to keep an eye on him."

Sherlock frowned. "You don't need an excuse."

"He missed you. And you _weren't_ supposed to come back, so I gave him the opportunity to have a part of you."

"And you didn't feel the need to tell me I had a son?"

"No," Mycroft answered. "Because you didn't. John did. He had his dead friend's son, and it shouldn't have mattered because you were supposed to stay gone. You told me you wanted to start over, and you wanted John to live a life free of the danger you put him in, so I built that into your plan to untangle Moriarty's web. And then you ignored it all and showed up in London. Were you full of so much spite for me that you couldn't resist wasting all my hard work?"

"Would you like me to leave?" Sherlock said quietly. "Because I will, if my presence here bothers you so much." His voice was soft, so as not to alarm Winny, but it had a biting tone and came with squinted eyes.

"I'm not asking you to leave, I'm simply asking why you returned after you were so adamant that you would not."

Sherlock ignored him for a moment, instead concentrating on the facial expressions his son was making. He smiled a little bit when he seemed to giggle for no reason. "I wanted to come home."

"In all my years of being your elder brother, I have never known you to call any place your home."

"I don't mean this flat," Sherlock explained, "though I have grown fond of it. I mean John. Dr. John Hamish Watson. The only person to ever willingly call himself my friend and continue to force that claim down my throat. The person I was willing to die for. I came back because I wasn't dead, and I wanted him to know. And I wanted to be here with him and it would have been fine."

"Would have been." It wasn't exactly a question, but it required an explanation anyway.

"I can't stay now. I can't expect to be a proper role model."

"What will you do? If John asks you to leave."

"I've got a plan."

"A stupid one, no doubt."

"At least it's not as boring as yours was."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and stepped away. "And what if John doesn't ask you to leave?"

"He will."

"What makes you think so?"

"This is me we're talking about, Mycroft. He may have stuck by me this long but he will get tired of dealing with me, just like everyone else."

X

"Sorry I'm late," John said as he rushed in the door. "I got held up after my shift."

"It's fine," Sherlock answered. He was laying across the sofa, hands folded under his chin. Thinking.

But John thought his voice sounded a little off. "Are you alright?"

"Of course. Darwin is down for a nap, although I'm not sure if he's actually sleeping or coming up with some sort of plan to take over the world."

"He does have a serious face when he looks like he's thinking," John added. "Looks just like you when he's concentrating."

"Does he?"

John chose to ignore the sarcasm. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?"

"Lestrade asked me to take a look at some evidence in a vandalism case."

"So, no, then?"

"Obviously."

"Want to go out?" John asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

It didn't go unnoticed. "Why?"

"A friend from work wants to meet you."

Sherlock frowned. He knew that John did have other friends, but that didn't keep him from being confused. "Me?"

"Yes, you. She's been asking to meet you since I mentioned you to her."

Oh. "It's a woman."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock stood. "I just didn't know you'd been dating anyone."

"We're not dating, she's my friend," John said. Strangely, it sounded like he meant it. "I told you, I'm not interested in dating anymore."

"But you like her."

"Sure, but I generally like everyone. Doesn't mean I want to date them."

"What time should I be ready?"


	8. Mary

**A/N: I've been so busy that I forgot I even had a fanfiction account. Sorry about that. Have an update in apology.  
**

**Chapter Seven. Mary.**

Sherlock had been different since he came home. A little calmer. A little more patient.

But John still felt a hint of uneasiness pulsing through him through the dinner with his coworker, Mary Morstan.

"What was that?" he asked when they got back. Sherlock didn't answer him, making the flat feel quieter than usual. Darwin was with Mrs. Hudson, so that added to the silence. "Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"What were you doing tonight?"

Sherlock looked around in confusion. "I was having dinner with you and your friend."

"No, I know that, I mean..." John stammered, looking for words. "I mean why were you so... nice?"

"I can be nice."

"You've never been nice to my girlfriends before. Not like that."

"Oh," Sherlock said, sitting on the sofa, "so she is your girlfriend."

"No, I told you, she's just a friend, but you obviously thought she was more than that so that's my question. You were a perfect gentlemen all evening. Why?"

"Practice." Sherlock answered.

John sighed. He really wasn't trying to start an argument. He was just curious. He was glad Sherlock had settled down a bit, but a part of him missed the old Sherlock. "Practice."

"Yep."

"Some kind of... experiment?" There hadn't been any of those. And John couldn't tell if he was relieved or upset that tonight might have been one.

Sherlock cocked his head. "I don't think so. Just practicing being nice. John?"

"What?"

"I like Mary."

"You what?"

"Although to be fair, there were others I liked," Sherlock admitted. "But I do have one question."

"About what?"

"When you get married-"

"Sherlock, stop," John said, a bit louder. "Mary is a friend from work. We're not even dating, and we certainly aren't getting married."

Sherlock stood and bent forward into John's personal space, looking him in the eyes. "Maybe not now. And maybe it won't be her. But one day, John, don't you think you'll find someone?"

"I don't-"

"You'll want to settle down with them. And I'm trying not to get in the way of that anymore."

"Sherlock," John shook his head, eyes not leaving his flatmate's, "I've already told you I'm not looking for anyone. Mary _is_ just a friend, and I don't want her to be anything more than that. Besides, if you think about it, I've already settled down with someone."

"I don't count."

"Why not?" John asked, sitting next to him on the sofa. "Relationships are different for everyone. And I've always seen myself with a kid one day, and maybe a partner if I found the right person. We may not be the traditional couple, Sherlock, but you can't deny that we are _partners_. Even without anything more than a close friendship, we are. We live together, support each other, care about each other, and we're raising a child together. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Nonsense."

"Don't you dare say that about our life together. It took me a while to get used to the idea but I'm done caring about what other people think of me or you or anything. We're partners and I want it to stay that way. If you don't, then tell me because I'd like to be prepared before losing you again."

Sherlock soaked in John's words, looping them in his head so he could dissect every syllable. "I don't want to be a hindrance to your happiness."

John reached across and placed a hand on Sherlock's elbow. He opened his mouth to speak when there was a light knock on the door. His mouth closed and his eyes signaled that they would continue later.

"Mrs. Hudson," John greeted, taking his son from the woman's arms, "thank you so much for watching him."

"Anytime, dear, I know how parents need time to themselves." She smiled and sent a little wave to Sherlock before turning to leave.

John shut the door quietly and turned to find Sherlock had moved silently to stand beside him. Sherlock ran his fingers through his sleeping son's hair and uttered softly, "I think I like that word."

John looked up. "Hm?"

"Partner. I think I like it. It's much better than colleague."

"Yeah," John smiled in agreement, "but we still need to talk about this. There's something you're not telling me, even after you said you didn't want to keep things from me anymore. Everyone's allowed their secrets but if it's going to make you think I would ever choose anyone over you, I'd like to discuss it."

Sherlock nodded without looking at him.


	9. What We Could Be

**(So, it's been forever since I updated this. I've tried my best to wrap it up without making it too horrible. Maybe I'll try to clean the rest of the story up sometime in the future.)**

* * *

**Chapter 9 - What We Could Be**

After waking from a nap, John went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The baby was sound asleep in his crib, so John didn't try to pick him up. He liked letting Winny sleep as long as he wanted.

He chuckled quietly to himself when he thought about how much the little boy slept. For all he took after Sherlock, they definitely differed in that area.

At the thought of Sherlock John found himself wondering where the man was. Surely not sleeping, as he had promised to stay awake in case Winny needed him while John got some much needed rest. But if he was in the flat, he'd be making some kind of noise. Violin, experiment, something.

He put down his tea and ascended the stairs to his former bedroom. Since Sherlock had decided to once again make 221B his home, he'd taken the room upstairs as his own without much fuss.

The door was partially opened, but John knocked rather than opening it. When there was no response he peeked inside, only to find no sign of Sherlock. Where could he have gone, he wondered. Surely he wouldn't have just left without saying anything?

That was part of their agreement. John had to know Sherlock's whereabouts at all times. So he pulled out and texted him, where are you?

Thankfully it was only a few seconds until a reply came.

Roof.

Then another came just after.

Not doing anything dangerous.

And John sighed with relief and checked on the baby again before going up to join him.

"What are you doing up here?" John asked as he carefully sat next to his friend.

Sherlock answered without looking at him. "What I'm always doing. Thinking." It was just starting to get dark out, and Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the melding blues and oranges of the sky.

"Care to tell me what about?"

This time Sherlock did look at him. "Since I've been back, there have been only two things I think about. Anything else, myself, cases, comes second to those two things."

"Is having a family really such a difficult puzzle to figure out?"

"That's not the puzzle I'm working on. That's part of a bigger thing I haven't even started working on yet."

John nodded, though he didn't really understand. "Do you mind if I sit here with you for a little? Winny is sleeping, and I assume you put him to bed pretty recently."

"No, I don't mind. And your deduction skills improve every day."

They chuckle for a short moment and then fall silent for long one.

"I wasn't supposed to come back," Sherlock said.

John's fingers twitched into an almost-fist. "I know."

"I know you know. I knew you figured it out. You may seem ordinary to everyone else but I know you are far beyond ordinary."

"You thought I was ordinary at first."

"One of the many mistakes I've made where you're concerned."

"Sherlock-" John started, half expecting the man to continue. When he didn't, John did. "I figured it out as soon as Mycroft told me you were back. The amount of anger in his voice... I knew you'd done something to make him miserable. But it didn't seem like he was upset for something you'd done on purpose. And then I knew... if you had planned to come back, you wouldn't have had to go to Mycroft first. You would have come here, because that path would have been in place."

"I didn't want to never see you again. To never work with you again," Sherlock admitted.

John looked up at him. "That's not all though, is it?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It wasn't fair. Theoretically, I could have seen you whenever I wanted. One phone call to my brother and I could watch you on my laptop. But you were never going to see me again. And I was alive. And everything I'd done was for you. Yes, there was technically more at stake and the papers say I saved so many lives and... but none of it mattered. I did it for you. So when it was all over, I couldn't stand the idea of not seeing the person I was willing to do all that for at least one more time."

"For what it's worth, I am so glad you came back."

"That's what held me back even once I was back in London. I kept asking myself, would you even want me anymore? All I'd put you through... it didn't matter that I'd been on the hunt for three years trying to keep you safe, if you hadn't wanted me here... I don't know what I would have done."

"Probably gone off to be the Lone Consultant again," John offered. "Found another sidekick."

Sherlock's answering gaze pierced him like a red hot blade. "No."

John scratched the back of his neck. "All this... all this fuss. Over me?"

"You're the one always trying to get me to admit to my sentiments and yet you have such a hard time believing that you're the only person I care for."

"I'm not the only person."

"No, not now that we have a child. No one else matters. Some are important, and I am able to admit that people like Molly and Lestrade may be my... friends... and in some small about I care about them. But I only care for you."

"I don't see what the difference is."

"You are a terrible liar, John."

John licked his lips and nodded. "I'm not sure I'm ready to have this conversation."

"Alright," is all Sherlock said. No anger. No prompting for when he would be ready. Just one simple word.

"There were so many times when I thought..."

"John, if you're not comfortable talking about this, don't force yourself. I am not the same Sherlock Holmes I was when I 'died'."

"I know."

"That's why you're worried."

John shook his head. "I'm not worried. At least, not about what you think I'm worried about."

"You're worried I'm saying this out of guilt rather than genuine affection."

"Okay, maybe it is what you think."

"I won't mention it again, if that would-"

"I care for you too, Sherlock, you stupid man."

One corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards. "Remember what you said a few months ago, about us not being a traditional couple? About us being partners?"

"Yes."

"I keep replaying that in my head. Sometimes separating audio from video and analysing each individually."

"And your analysis?"

"We couldn't be a typical couple." He paused, gauging John's reaction. "But we could be a couple."

John laughed and looked away for a second before finally meeting Sherlocks' gaze. "You know, I kind of thought we already were. Or mostly. Like we've been stuck in a sort of Limbo."

Sherlock nodded. "There are things... that would not be a part of our relationship. Things that most couples do..."

"I know you don't have sex. It didn't take me very long to get over that."

"Are you sure? Because sex is important to some people and there's nothing wrong with-"

"Have you seen any sign of me having had sex recently? I honestly haven't since before your fall."

"You could though," Sherlock told him. "Being in a relationship with me doesn't rule out other possibilities."

"I love that you're being open-minded about this, but really, I'm more than happy taking care of things myself."

Sherlock nodded again. "Of course, there are things we can do. Things I've thought about doing, especially recently."

"Like?"

Sherlock reached out and grabbed one of John's hands. "Like this. Being close to you is... it makes me feel free. A kind of freedom I have found nowhere else. And when I touch you... when you hug me or our fingers brush when you hand me a cup of tea... I feel more like myself than ever. More at peace with the self that I was and the self that I am."

"Why?"

"Because you give me what no one else can. Some people meet me and they want me to change, they want me to be more normal. Others see me and say that I'm brilliant, that I shouldn't change because I am the way I am for a reason. No one has simply taken what I've offered and run with it. You wanted me the way I was then, and you want me the way I am now."

"I just want you. With me. All the time. You can change all you want but you will always be Sherlock at the core. And I'll change too, but I'll always be John and those two things will always belong together."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and lifted it to his mouth. "Do you want to know another thing we could do?"

"Sure."

He lightly kissed John's knuckles before leaning closer and letting their hands rest on the shingles. "We could kiss."

"Are you sure this is what you want, Sherlock."

"Everything we just said to each other, and you doubt my feelings?"

"No, I just..." John stared at him, not breaking eye contact.

"It won't be easy. I know that. And I'm ready for this challenge, John."

"Okay. Okay, me too." He leaned in, determined to not let anything ruin this moment between them.

When they heard a loud cry come from inside the building, they pulled away slightly. John sighed while Sherlock laughed. "Duty calls. We can resume later tonight."

John nodded as Sherlock stood, offering a hand to help him up. He took it, and as soon as he was standing he pushed forward, careful not to cause either of them to lose their balance, and pressed his lips against Sherlock's in a short kiss. "I didn't really feel like waiting."


End file.
